The last words of Halil pierced the middle-aged man's heart like a sword. An uneasy weight held down his left arm. A malignant numbness settled in his feet. He was just as tired as Halil, but he had a long trip ahead of him. His students waited for him, and he was the son of a teacher. He put the note with its envelope back into his father's confidential folder, dropped the folder into the black suitcase along with the other folders on the table, and zipped the bag. When he walked down with two suitcases and his backpack, a grey morning was settling into the sky. He turned and looked at the apartment behind him as if to check the seventy-two hours he left behind, and walked toward his automobile. The neurons in his brain exploded like fireworks with the string of words, "Your son—Esin—Halil..." He thought the plot has been completed. "I hope I didn't disappoint you," he murmured. As long as he lived, he would keep his father in his memories, and let Akkuş, Süleyman, Muharrem, Esin, Halil, and Raziye live in his memories of his father. Most importantly, he would have the story of Akpınar Village Institute—the cherished home institution and alma mater of his father, built with the soil-scented hands of the children of peasantry who congregated in the foothills of Akdağ on a hot summer day in 1940—and it would live in his memory like a legendary tale. He realized that his father had been right one more time—life itself was nothing more than a plot...
|Edition description:||March 2019 Edition|
|Product dimensions:||5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.89(d)|
About the Author
Oruc holds a Ph.D. in electrical engineering and is a full professor at the University of Maryland, College Park, Maryland.